


The Mystery and the Manifestations

by Ayotofu



Series: Dragon Assassin: Tales of Shado and Nyssa [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, Oops, Shado Lives AU, Shado joins the League of Assassins, Slow Burn, also Shado and Nyssa are in love, also Slade never went bad here, also some angst and shit, in an entirely different Earth where things happen differently, not sorry i do make the rules, stuff on the Island happened very differently
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-09-29 19:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10142750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayotofu/pseuds/Ayotofu
Summary: "Years later, Shado would say that her awakening in Nyssa's chambers that day, the other woman's dark hair brushing her face and a tiny furrow of concern in her brow, was its own form of prophecy. And given the events that were to follow, it would make a certain amount of sense that there was some divine ordination that these things must come to pass, because even Shado could scarcely believe it when it was done."--In many Earths, Shado and Nyssa never meet. In this Earth, however, they do, and that changes everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something that... has been in the back of my mind forever. I've always been saddened by the lack of Shado fics, especially any where she is a main character, so I seek to remedy that. I also seek to convert everyone to the beauty and perfection that is Shado/Nyssa and hopefully this will make it happen. I'm desperate for the ship to reach 100 fics here, even if that means I have to write them all myself.
> 
> note: Title is a reference to a quote by Laozu, considered the author of the _daodejing_ , which Shado references in the one scene of hers that everyone quotes about how everyone has dark and light inside them. In case you were wondering.
> 
> Thanks to raywritesthings, nonbinarydereknurse, and whitecanarrow on tumblr for beta'ing.

Years later, Shado would say that her awakening in Nyssa's chambers that day, the other woman's dark hair brushing her face and a tiny furrow of concern in her brow, was its own form of prophecy. And given the events that were to follow, it would make a certain amount of sense that there was some divine ordination that these things must come to pass, because even Shado could scarcely believe it when it was done.

At the time, however, as her brain struggled to reconcile its foggy recollection of what had happened on the island with where she was now, and as her body remained stuck in survival mode, she could only see an unfamiliar person and an unfamiliar place and the danger she had long since learned came with that.

Instinct told to her strike while she had the element of surprise and make a run for it, but the heaviness of her limbs and the ache of her muscles and the blurriness of her vision cautioned her otherwise. She knew nothing and she could do nothing and so the smartest course of action was to wait and see.

(Shado was so tired of waiting.)

“You are awake?” the woman hovering over her said, in the manner of one who is feeling hesitant for the first time in their life. “That is... good. Can you—are you—can you hear me? Can you understand me?”

Her Mandarin was flawless; Shado hadn't truly heard someone speak her mother tongue since her father had been killed (Oliver's halting attempts didn't count, not really, though they could've, someday, if he'd lived long enough—but no, she'd survived, maybe the others had as well).

“I hear you,” she said after a long moment, her voice grating through her throat and the salt of the ocean still on her lips. As if on cue, a cup was pressed to her lips and she took as long of a draught as she could before it was pulled away.

“You are still dehydrated; you must drink _slowly_.”

She had known that, once, but it was so easy to forget when your throat was burning for relief. “Who are you? Where am I? Where are my friends?”

The woman leaned back some and Shado finally could see a bit more of the room, made of stone, draped with deep red curtains, and lit with candles, apparently taken directly out of a medieval romantic's wet dream. “I am Nyssa and you are in Nanda Parbat. As for your friends... I'm sorry, but I didn't find any living soul on that island but you.”

“Ah,” she said. “I see.” Grief, guilt, loss—these would all come to her in time. But here, immobile, in this beautiful room with this beautiful woman who had saved her life, she was empty.

“You have been here for about a week now,” Nyssa said in the ensuing silence. “Most of that time you were delirious with hunger and pain and it is probably for the better that you do not remember, but it will be a long time yet before you are back to full strength.”

“I imagine so.” Shado's eyelids were drooping. She didn't bother attempting to keep them open.

Nyssa said something else, but Shado was already drifting off to sleep.

–

“How is our _guest_?” her father asked without preamble as she approached, his back to her as he bathed in the waters of the Lazarus Pit. He drew out _guest_ , ending it in something of a hiss.

“She is healing,” Nyssa said, back erect and hands clasped behind her back. “If all goes well, she should be mobile again within the week and fully recovered in a few months.”

“I see,” he said, and were he not Ra's al Ghul, Nyssa might have heard a tinge of disappointment in his tone. “Be sure she is brought to me once she is well enough.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Is there anything else you wish to report?”

“No, Father.”

Ra's waved his hand at her in dismissal and she quickly bowed before taking her leave. If she remembered correctly, there was a warlord in Yemen in need of retribution for his crimes; her problems here could wait.

–

“ _Al-Rramh_ ,” Nyssa said, nodding at the woman to her left before turning to the person on her right. “ _Min-yuqtal Alaliha_ , I have a... request. About the woman in my quarters.”

“The half-dead millstone you fished out of the North China sea?” _Min-yuqtal Alaliha_ grinned wolfishly at her. Normally, she wouldn't tolerate such disrespect, especially in front of another League member, but she bit the side of her cheek to keep silent. Despite their poor attitude, _Min-yuqtal_ was one of the only people she could trust to do as she asked without talking to her father about it. “I mean, I don't consider her as such, of course.”

“Of course,” Nyssa said.

Their grin widened.

“Lady Nyssa,” _Al-Rramh_ said, removing her hood and mask to look Nyssa in the eye. If she had chosen _Min-yuqtal Alaliha_ for their trustworthiness, then she had chosen _Al-Rramh_ for her quiet strength, the sort that you don't notice until it's directed at you and you are swamped with the weight of it. It was precisely this quality which made Nyssa recruit her for the League when she had first rescued her. “What is it that you want us to do?”

“I am leaving tomorrow for Yemen—”

“Ah, for the one they're calling 'Pikeman', I presume?”

“— _yes_ , that one, and if you interrupt me ever again I will seek to emulate him—so I will, be gone for a week, maybe two. During that time, I am— _asking_ you two to take care of her in my stead.”

_Min-yuqtal_ chuckled humorlessly. “You just threatened me and now you're asking for my help?”

“She's asking for _our_ help, fool. And is it not an honor that she would come to us?” _Al-Rramh_ demanded.

“She wants us to wipe the ass of some stranger who will be dead within the month once her father passes judgment while she runs away to Yemen to avoid the problem. There is no _honor_ in this; it is no _gift_. She may not look it, but she is groveling to us, and it is a sorry sight to see.”

Nyssa closed her eyes and bowed her head. They had caught on much more fully than she'd hoped.

“How—how _dare_ you say such things, such—such _lies_? Lady Nyssa would never—”

They snorted. “If what I said was a lie, Nyssa would never have let me finish before she slit my throat.”

There was the sound of a sword being drawn and Nyssa's head snapped back up to see _Al-Rramh's_ blade at _Min-yuqtal's_ throat. “Take it back, you—”

“ _Al-Rramh_ , enough.” She rested her hand on her student's sword and somehow kept her voice steady. “Crude though they may have been, _Min-yuqtal_ speaks the truth. If you were to agree to this, I would be in your debt. Both of you. That is why I am asking you for this. Please.”

“Lady Nyssa?”

Nyssa sighed. “I do not know if it was a mistake to rescue her, but I cannot change what has been done. What I do know is that even if she dies by my father's hand, it would still be a more gracious death than what fate had decided for her had I not intervened. She has already suffered greatly in this life; no matter if she lives or dies, does she not deserve at least to be free from pain and hunger and thirst until that judgment comes? Does she not at least deserve a death with dignity, even if that's all we can give her?”

There is a moment of silence before _Al-Rramh_ meets her eyes. “Of course, Lady Nyssa. I will keep watch over her while you are away; you have my word.”

“Thank you, _tifl_.” She turned to look at _Min-yuqtal_ , who shifted uncomfortably under her piercing gaze. The high ground had shifted now, and they could sense it.

“Fine. I'll do it. But you owe me a favor now, okay? Anytime, anything I want, you have to do it. That's my condition.”

“Fine,” she agreed through gritted teeth. “But I won't disrespect or disobey my father. That's _my_ condition.”

They inclined their head in acknowledgment. “Then we have an agreement. I will see you when you return. And Nyssa?” they called back as they turned to leave. “Some free advice: have some _fun_ with this mission. You look like you need some stress relief.” They winked at her before exiting. _Al-Rramh_ threw them a scornful look before bowing and walking out behind them.

Nyssa took a deep breath before punching at the stone wall and releasing a cloud of dust and stone fragments into the air. As she pulled her hand back, blood seeped along the skin of her knuckles, but she'd been careful not to do any serious damage so that was the worst of it.

And with enough of her anger spent that she could face the world again, she left to go check on the invalid in her bed.

–

“It occurs to me that you know my name, but I do not know yours,” Nyssa said.

“Shado,” she answered after a moment's hesitation. “Just Shado.”

“Well, 'Just Shado', you weren't awake long enough last time for me to tell you this, but I thought you would like to know that you should be mobile by the week's end.”

Shado smiled lightly at this, more to appease Nyssa than out of any true joy. She was still so empty at this point that it ached in her chest. “That will be... nice. I don't much care for captivity, even if I'm held captive by my own body.”

“Especially then, I'd imagine. If your body is the enemy, what do you fight?” And Nyssa seems so honestly perturbed by such a concept, the idea that she cannot fight her way out of her own body's failings, that Shado smiles a little more and the ache in her chest lessens. It's almost a naivete and it's rather endearing.

“I do have a question, though,” Shado said, reaching to grab the cup of water Nyssa had brought with her and take a sip. “Before, you said that we were in Nanda Parbat. Where is that? _What_ is that?”

“It is the home of the League of Assassins, in the mountains of Northern Tibet.”

Shado choked on the water. “League of _what_.”

She had known, of course, that wherever she was couldn't be part of normal civilization anyway, that there had to be some level of secrecy and intrigue involved. She had known that she couldn't trust these people; Nyssa was the only person she had even seen (she only knew anyone else was even there because she could hear them outside her room sometimes) and never once had she asked where Shado was from, if she had family, where she wanted to go when she was able. However kind Nyssa was, there was no escaping that she was some sort of prisoner. She had even entertained the notion that Nyssa was a prisoner as well, though that seemed less and less likely.

But whatever she had thought about where she was, none of it had been anything similar to a League of Assassins. They (or at least Nyssa) had saved her life. Why would a group of killers do such a thing?

Nyssa chuckled. “You seem surprised.”

“I... wasn't aware that assassins were organized,” she said, choosing her words carefully to avoid offending her caretaker.

At that, Nyssa let out a full-throated laugh. “Oh, no, you misunderstand. The League of Assassins is not like those—hitmen types who have ruined our name. We do not kill people for money or power, but for justice. Those who have abused their strength and hurt those weaker than them: these people are our targets. We are their reckoning; without the League, there would be no check on those in power, nothing to ensure that the course of human history continues on an upward trajectory instead of slipping down into suffering and death.”

Shado did not respond for a long moment. “What does that mean for me?”

The light left Nyssa's eyes. “You—you are to be judged by the head of the League of Assassins, Ra's al Ghul. He will determine if you are worthy to join the League.”

“What if I just want to go home?”

Nyssa sighed. “Your entry into the League would be as a repayment for what we have given to you. If you are not found worthy, or if you refuse, then... that which was given will be taken back.”

Shado smiled again, but it was tight, and the ache in her chest was back. “I see.”

“So you should rest up,” Nyssa said, suddenly brusque. “You'll need your strength soon enough.”

–

When Shado awoke for the third time, she was alone and desperately thirsty. A cup of water and a bowl of soup sat by her bed, along with two notes written in Mandarin (one which informed her that Nyssa would be away for a week or two and the other which cautioned her to drink plenty and to eat slowly. It was... incongruous, in a way, that such care should be taken that she have something to eat and drink when she woke up, but no person there to help her should she need assistance. Shado, for her part, wasn't sure what to make of it; she never did learn this, but perhaps it should still be mentioned that this was because Nyssa had been the one to leave the soup and water for her before she left for Yemen. No one else in Nanda Parbat was overly concerned with the outsider's fate, not even the ones who had been charged with her care).

(It should also be mentioned that this awakening, like the first, was also something of a prophecy, though Shado would never consider it as such).

Sitting up was a greater struggle than she could ever remember it being. Her entire body trembled with effort as she propped her torso up on her elbows. Then, slowly, she wiggled her butt back so that she could rest her upper back against the wall, pausing a couple times to catch her breath. And even so, once she had achieved her goal, she sat immobile, chest heaving, until she could bring herself to lift her arm and grab the cup.

There is, of course, a reason why, in a normal hospital, a cup of water would generally come with a straw, and this was exemplified in the water spilled down Shado's shirt, with only a small sip actually in ending up in her mouth at all. With a sigh she set down the cup and began scrubbing at her shirt (and oh, it would seem that it had been changed at some point from the gray shirt she'd worn for months on end to something loose, black, and almost tunic-like).

Compared to all the injustices and struggles she had suffered ever since her father was taken years ago, it was so insignificant it shouldn't have even registered as an inconvenience. But minds are funny things, and Shado could barely lift her arms to scrub ineffectually. She couldn't even drink a glass of water. She couldn't change her own shirt. She couldn't save her father and she couldn't save her friends. She was weak, and now she was alone.

For the first time since her father was killed, she cried, tears dripping as she coughed out a low sob. And then, for the first time since she woke up on Lian Yu as Edward Fyers's prisoner, she did not restrain her sorrow and she let out a wail for her father, for Slade, for Oliver and Sara, for the sister and lover they'd left behind in an act of betrayal they could no longer redeem, for Ivo's prisoners, for her own sister left behind in Hong Kong. For the men she'd killed, the snap of their necks and the thud of arrows into their chests. For the weakness of her body. For the weakness of her soul.

She sobbed until her newly healed throat was raw and coarse, wailed so loud that it echoed down the hallway and seeped into the stones of every room it could reach. Two assassins training in the room directly below her stopped their spar to stare at the ceiling. One of them sank to the floor with the weight of it all, the burden of the grief they had come to the League to escape. Her anguish would not yet have dispersed from the air by the time Nyssa returned, nor would it disperse for some time still. _Al-Rramh_ , upon entering the room approximately an hour later with more water and some solid food, would not stifle her own quiet sob. She would then shove the tray down on the table and race out of the room like the hounds of hell were at her feet.

But in the moment, once her voice gave out, she was left alone in the room, coughing and choking and sputtering. She took a moment to recover before she reached out and grabbed the soup and took a bite. It was cold and tasted of ash, but she ate every bite, slowly, and sipped the water until it was gone. Then she replaced the empty bowl and cup and laid back down to rest. Whatever came next, she would need her strength.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kind of short as a chapter but important. also Moira appears which no one who knows me should be surprised by because I love her A Lot

There can be no doubt that the focus of this story is on Shado and Nyssa; they are the driving force; the relationship between them is why this story has been written in the first place. However, there is a world outside what they see, and instead of showing you what is happening to them as Nyssa is in Yemen and Shado regains some mobility, it is instead prudent to show you some of what is happening elsewhere. Because, despite their unawareness of these events, they will eventually come to have great bearing on our ladies future endeavors.

If anyone is overly concerned about the goings-on in Nanda Parbat and Yemen, here is a brief peek to soothe you:

Shado was healing well, through largely her own endurance. Though _Al-Rramh_ and _Min-yuqtal Alaliha_ were charged with her care, _Al-Rramh_ was hesitant to enter the room after the first time she'd brought food by and left as quickly as possible each time while _Min-yuqtal_ simply did not care. Food and water were brought with regularity and arm crutches were left by her bed, but other than that, she was on her own for her recovery until Nyssa's return approximately six days from when she'd left.

Nyssa, for her part, did not take _Min-yuqtal's_ advice when it came to dealing with Pikeman (which is truly a stupid name for such a vicious warlord). She located his encampment, struck down his soldiers, and liberated his prisoners. As the dust settled, only the Pikeman himself remained, on his knees in the dirt, bound and gagged. On any other occasion, she might have found a fierce soul in the sea of people, mostly women and girls, and allowed them to take their own revenge. But she suddenly remembered Shado, alone in a fortress full of people who were apathetic toward her at best, and she had run him through before she'd thought about it. She left the emancipated people behind without a word; it was time to go home.

–

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, a very much alive Slade Wilson stood in front of the Queen mansion gate, his finger hovering over the intercom button. He drew it back for a moment, before sighing and pressing it down. A loud, grating buzz filled the air and soon thereafter an Eastern-European accented voice filtered through the box.

“Yes? Who is it?”

“I—Slade Wilson. I spoke to Ms. Queen on the phone a few days ago; she should be expecting me.”

There was another loud buzz and then the wrought iron gate was swinging open, a long driveway stretching to the front door. Sculpted bushes lined the path, along with lilies and tulips and hydrangeas. It was revolting.

“No wonder you were so useless, kid,” he mumbled under his breath as he finally reached the door and knocked three times. He'd known Oliver was rich, of course, but the Queen family wasn't exactly well known in Australia like they were in America, so he hadn't really understood just _how_ rich they were. No one needed a fountain in their front yard. If the kid were here, he and Shado would be taking him apart.

But Shado and Oliver were dead. Sara too. And all he could do for them was bring the news home to their families.

Sara hadn't wanted her family to know what had happened to her, so he didn't even bother to look. And Shado... he wasn't sure if she had any family left. She'd never talked about her life before the island, as though talking about it would break some sort of spell helping her keep it together. Did she have a mother? A sister? Friends? Probably, but he didn't know where to look since ASIS had locked him out of their systems following his return from the dead.

So Oliver's family was the obvious choice for the time being. He'd worry about the rest later.

The door opened, revealing a small but sturdy Russian woman with a pleasant smile. “Mr. Wilson. Ms. Queen is waiting for you in the sitting room, if you'll follow me.”

The inside of the house was just as luxurious as the outside, but tastefully so. Mahogany in the walls and much of the furniture, accents or gold and marble—just a touch, so as not to be overpowering—with big windows and pale colors to make the room feel lighter. On the far wall, there hung a portrait of what he assumed was the late Robert Queen.

And there on the settee, wearing a black skirt suit with a white collared shirt underneath and a string of pearls, blonde curls just barely brushing her shoulders, sat Moira Queen.

“Mr. Wilson, it's nice to meet you. I'm Moira Queen,” she said, rising to take his hand.

“Indeed you are,” he said, admiring her firm grip. After a moment's pause, he added, “It's nice to meet you, too.”

Then they were both sitting across from each other, and Moira, with the infinite social grace of a high-society woman, filled the ensuing silence before it could become awkward.

“Now,” she said, fixing him with an unwavering gaze, “you said you had information on the _accident_ that took my husband and son from me two years ago?”

Slade heard the slight emphasis on _accident_ and narrowed his eyes, just for a moment, before smoothing out his face. “Well, not exactly.”

“'Not exactly'? Mr. Wilson, I am a very busy woman and I do not have time for games.”

“I understand that—”

“Do you? Do you understand how many crackpots and conspiracy theorists I've had come calling since the accident? All trying to convince me that someone had murdered my family, or sometimes even suggesting that I murdered them myself? How many people have tried to sell me some fake story so they could get some money from us, or get their fifteen minutes of fame?” Moira's words are coated with steel and poison and Slade can't help but be impressed (though he would prefer it if he could get a word in edgewise to explain properly). “The only reason I accepted this meeting is because of your ties with ASIS but I refuse to sit here and be _toyed_ with.”

“Ma'am,” Slade said. “I'm not toying with you. What I'm saying is that I'm not here to talk about the accident. I'm here to talk about what happened after.”

For a moment, Moira Queen is frozen, marbled in her shock. “After?” she whispers, like she's asleep, and if she speaks too loud the dream will disappear. “Then they—they survived?”

Slade winced. “Oliver did. He and I were stranded together on an island for the past two years. He saved my life and he saved hundreds—thousands of other lives while he was there.” There are tears streaming down Moira's face now, silent even as her face reddens. “I'm sorry that I can't give you any details, but it's been classified.”

It wasn't exactly true; there was plenty of what had happened that was not classified, but he hadn't come here to rehash everything that had happened on the island. Moira Queen didn't need to know how her son was tortured and she didn't need to know how many men he'd killed. She didn't need to know how Anthony Ivo had used people as guinea pigs to find his miracle cure, how he'd injected the Mirakuru into himself as his boat was sinking only to die screaming. She didn't need to know how Oliver and Shado and Sara had all drowned, sucked to the bottom of the ocean, leaving Slade dreadfully alone. She just needed to know that her son was a hero. That he'd changed.

“I-I see,” she said. Her fists were clenched against her knees, her knuckles gleaming white. “I see.”

Slade could tell that a loss of control was imminent, so he figured it was time for him to go. (Moira, for her part, rather appreciated that he made no ham-handed attempt at comforting her. She did want some comfort, really, but she'd much rather it came from Walter than this man she'd never met who'd brought her son back to life only to kill him again.) Standing up, he offered her one last thought. “Your son... Oliver was one of the best people I ever knew. He wanted to come back home more than anything. I'm sorry that I couldn't make that happen.”

“Thank you for telling me, Mr. Wilson,” Moira's voice almost wobbled but she held steady, breathing deeply in and out. “Raisa will show you out.”

As he made his way out, the last Slade Wilson saw of Moira Queen that day was the slow slump of her shoulders, the dying light of day illuminating a halo behind her head, blinding him to the crumbling of her face as she began to sob.

–

As this was happening, over in the city of Hong Kong, Oliver Queen and Sara Lance were desperately fighting to send an email to Moira Queen and Quentin Lance. Though they were ultimately unsuccessful (seeing as at this point they were just now approaching adequate in terms of fighting ability by the standards of anyone at the League), their actions sent a notification back to Starling City that someone had accessed a dead man's email.

In one world, Tommy Merlyn came running across the world, alone, at the barest hope his best friend was alive, only to have the hope crushed in order to save his life. In this world, however, Slade Wilson is still in Starling City when Tommy gets the news, and these things happen much differently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah. no Shado or Nyssa, but a lot of like. plot stuff. what's gonna happen??? who knows???? i don't even know bruh

**Author's Note:**

> please feel free to come chat with me at anytime at ayotofu.tumblr.com :D


End file.
